


The Sun in Your Eyes

by pterodactylichexameter



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactylichexameter/pseuds/pterodactylichexameter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aelin decides she and Rowan need to christen her new throne.</p><p>Yes, that means exactly what you think it means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignite_my_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignite_my_love/gifts).



> I'm back in the fanfic world, my smutty friends, and it feels great.
> 
> Title from Halsey (ofc)

Rowan received the note when he was down in the armory with Aedion, inspecting the new shipment of steel and building materials.  Aelin had excused herself for the evening, waving off the two males’ questions with the excuse (that Rowan saw for what it was before it was too late) that she was tired from training earlier in the day.

“Her Royal Highness has asked that you meet her in the throne room,” the pageboy said with a slight bow, glancing up at the men more than twice his size.  They were still restoring palace livery, so the boy was dressed plainly albeit cleanly, at least in green.

Rowan’s eyes flicked to Aedion’s, but he only shrugged, apparently just as oblivious to why Aelin needed him in the formal receiving room so late in the evening.

“Duty calls, I suppose,” he only said with a shrug and shuffled the inventory papers over to Aedion.

Aedion chuckled “Good luck.”

The walk up the few levels and over to the throne room was a quiet one, but when he made to head for the side doors they usually used, a footman cleared his throat politely and motioned to the two heavy doors that opened directly opposite the dais.

“Her Royal Highness asked that you use the main entrance, Your Highness.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but the man wasn’t lying.  Or at least he thought that this was normal procedure.  What was Aelin _doing_?

The guards swung the main doors inwards and he strode into the hall, expecting to see Aelin  and an assortment of chaos within.

Instead she sat, regal, on her throne, the walk between them lit with rows of candelabras, setting the marble floor rolling with warm shadows.

“Aelin?” he asked, curious, steady. He took a hesitant step forwards.

“Do you usually take this long to answer your queen?” Her voice was even, as if she was basking in his confusion.

As he drew nearer, he caught a better view of what she was wearing in the dim candlelight and paused to reevaluate. The black fabric draped over her body covered her form in liquid shadow, pooling in her lap and following the line of her legs crossed at the ankle.  The shoulders were clasped with golden pins and the belt at her waist was a lace of finely woven gold.

Rowan breathed a curse when she, never breaking eye contact, spread her legs to reveal the slit in her skirt that reached so high he could see the crease of her hip. He imagined tracing a hand up her ankle, calf, knee, thigh. . .

His mental caress reached through their bond and he saw her thighs inch slightly wider.

Rowan paused at the foot of the steps leading up to her throne, taking in the diadem perched on her brow, the careful arch of her back, and the curve of her breast that gave away her delicious lack of undergarments.   “Dare I ask why Her Highness has called me here tonight?” he asked, brows shooting to the sky.

He watched her eyes follow the lines of his body, down his chest, his crossed arms, pausing at the lacings of his trousers.  “Have you properly greeted your queen yet?” she replied archly, eyes flicking pointedly to the floor.

Rowan shook his head through a smirk, clicking his tongue at her little game before lowering himself onto one knee in a bow.

“That’s more like it,” she said and he heard the rustle of her gown, saw her descending the steps in his peripherals even though he didn’t raise his head.  She was going to play this game? Fine.  He’d indulge her.  For the time being, at least.

Her slender fingers caught his chin, tipping it up to look her in the eye.  “Go sit on my throne.”

“Not. . . my throne, _Your Highness_?” he asked, which only made her smirk broaden. Damn he loved her like this. Playful. Lighthearted. Enticing. She made his blood quicken and every cell in his body aware of her presence.

He rose to his feet, stepping in close enough that he could feel her breath against the collar of his shirt and smell the lavender that clung to her skin. His fangs pushed at his lower lip, the feral Fae in him aching to have her.

A smirk played at her mouth and she rose on her toes to brush her lips against his jaw. He could have reached out and tasted the bend of her throat if he wanted ( _fuck_ , he wanted to). “I’d rather ride you on the queen’s throne,” she murmured, one hand curving over the growing bulge in his trousers as she pressed a gentle kiss to his fevered skin.

He swallowed hard, eyes sliding shut. _Damn her_. Damn her and her wicked mouth.

“Aelin. . .” he breathed, sending all the thoughts and needs and images rolling through his mind out to her: a jumbled mix of sensations, of his hands roaming her body, an image of her dress pooled around her waist and her breasts bare, the memory of the way she’d tasted the previous night when he’d thrown her legs over his shoulders and feasted on her till she’d come twice around his tongue.

“Well?” she only said, slipping away from him and gesturing up to her throne.  Though she didn’t address the torrent of want he’d thrown at her, he knew her well enough to read the flush high on her cheeks and the way her teeth pulled at her lower lip.

If he wasn’t so damn invested in the scenario she had going, he would’ve turned and kissed her until they sank to the floor right there.  All it would take was one tug of the dress; the slit was so high it wouldn’t even get in the way if—

His eyes flicked down her form one last time before he took the shallow steps up the dais.

Her throne was simple but regal, sturdy oak with curving vines for arms, so detailed that every vein and petal and leaf seemed weightless and impossibly real. The strong base was veined granite from the mountains, the velvet cushion resting plump in the seat.

When he sat, Aelin didn’t waste any time, much to his satisfaction, sliding onto his lap with the ease of their shared intimacy.

He relished the feel of her legs parted over his thighs, the weight of her sinking against him, her sweet mouth that found his in an instant.

Their sudden kiss was a heavy mess of tongue, the spiced wine on her breath, and the warm floral scent of her hair flooding through him as his hands roamed her body, skating easily over the silk floating down her back, resting on her ass and squeezing.

As soon as they touched, all the precedence of the scenario vanished and it was just the two of them, as it always was, the only people in the world, free of the weight of running the kingdom, of keeping both of their peoples safe.

Rowan wound his fingers through her hair, holding her mouth to his. A wave of affection rolled through him with the realization of how much he loved her.  A dedicated friend, ally, the woman who never ceased to impress him—irk him more than likely—a warrior who’d somehow, miraculously, seen something in him.

Their kiss slowed, a smile spreading on her lips, and she drew back slightly, meeting his gaze, well aware of everything that had just passed through his mind. “I love you too,” she murmured, fingers threading through the hairs at the back of his neck.

She was warm when he pulled her closer to him, suddenly bound with a dedication to show her—as he often tried to—how much he cared for her. Their noses bumped when he guided her mouth back to his, fitting together easily.

She ground down against the bulge in his trousers, slowly at first, their languorous kisses stealing the breath from his lungs as her deft fingers pulled at the clasps of his tunic.

“Where did you even get this?” he murmured, lips trailing to taste her throat, undo one of the clasps on the straps of her gown.

A broad smile pulled her lips away from his ear and she shoved his tunic over his shoulders, helping him off with it.  “I knew you’d like it. There’s this little shop. . . We should go sometime.”

He practically growled at the thought of her trying on a whole host of dresses like the one she wore. Ones with hid far less skin. “I’d want to rip them off of you.” Just the prospect had him grasping at the silk underneath his fingers, tugging it down to bare one breast.

A groan rumbled through him when his mouth drifted down her neck, taking her peaked nipple between his teeth.

She let out a gasp at the swirl of his tongue, grip tightening on the back of his head.

“If you rip _this_ off me, I’ll have nothing to get back to our rooms in,” she said, breathless.  It was meant to be a warning but a surge of heat pounded through him at the prospect.

“I’d have you in the hallway, then,” he murmured, reaching between them to grapple at his belt.  “Against the wall in front of all those portraits.” She bucked her hips against his.

He could smell her arousal, then, warm and heady and it took everything in him to concentrate hard enough to undo the laces of his pants.

She rose slightly, pulling her dress up, and he had himself out of his underwear in half a second, painfully hard, almost dripping.

“Come on, Rowan,” she breathed close to his ear, nails digging into his bare shoulder, silently pleading.

He felt her breath catch when he nudged at her entrance, nearly groaning at the feel of her slick heat, and his mouth fell open against her throat when she sank down on him. Down, down, until they were flushed and she was sitting fully on his lap, bare chests pressed together.

Their arms were twined around each other, hers in his hair, grasping the tight muscles in his shoulder, his at her back, on her thigh, the pads of his fingers brushing her scars.  Everything smelled of Aelin, as if she were a part of him and he to her.

Sometimes he talked to her, in the quiet of their bedroom, wicked, dirty things that were for her ears alone, what he wanted to do to her, how it felt to have her under him. Rarer were the times that she was the one talking him over the edge.

Now, though, he didn’t want to say anything, _couldn’t_ say anything. Not with Aelin in his lap, beautiful, relentless.  She was a veritable goddess he realized, pumping his hips up into hers. Golden hair thrown back, the nape of her neck and between her breasts damp with the heat of their bodies, dress hanging off one shoulder as if she just couldn’t get it off fast enough.

He was just about to reach between them, to find the slick pearl that would have her tumbling over the edge in no time, when she suddenly gasped, every muscle in her body tightening. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, letting out another long, breathless groan that had him jerking his hips into hers. “Right there, oh _fuck_.”

Her encouragement spurred him on, desperate to have her falling apart around him. It wasn’t hard and fast, like it was when they only had a few minutes alone in their office or slow in the gentle way that mornings before they’d both gotten out of bed were.

This was. . . easy, intimate, sloppy kisses and quick, shared breaths, but without the urge to have everything happening all at once. The comfort of familiarity and reliance on the other.

Aelin’s skin was heated to the touch, a bright fire burning within her, and when she finally shuddered, nails digging into his upper arms, Rowan rolled his hips up into hers in long, steady thrusts, finally allowing himself release that pulsed through him, joining them.

He came back to himself with the realization that she was slumped against him, forehead on his shoulder, arms draped around him.  Pressing a slow kiss to the bend of her throat, he brushed a damp tendril of hair off her cheek.

“You’ve ruined me, you know,” he murmured against her skin, knuckles running up and down her bare spine.  He was almost groggy, drunk with the feel of her wrapped around him.  “I’ll never be able to sit in here again without thinking about this.”

A slow chuckle rumbled between them and she drew back slightly to kiss him, a gentle pressure that was more a reassurance than anything else.

“That was the idea, you know,” she said, voice low and rough.  Her lips were swollen when she ducked in for another slow kiss.

“Mmm, why am I not surprised.”

The next morning, when he ran into Aedion at breakfast, the warrior gave him a confused look. “So what’d Aelin want last night?”

Aelin, appearing suddenly behind him, gave a smirk. She was loving this. “Why don’t you ask her for yourself?” He certainly wasn’t about to worry about coming up with an excuse, not with Aelin there.

She gave a sweet smile (always trouble) and sipped her tea with raised eyebrows. “I just needed some help with a few things.  Look at some maps. Sort out some trade agreements. Breaking in the throne. Minor assortment of court regulations. The usual.”

Rowan could see the moment the gears clicked into place in Aedion’s head because he just sneered, shaking his head. “You two are disgusting, you know that?”  He was still shaking himself when he walked away, as if to brush off the mental image.

“I’ve half a mind to think you only drag me into these situations so you can do this to Aedion the next day,” he said with an arched brow, glancing down at Aelin by his side.

She just gave him an easy smirk. “So I guess I won’t be seeing you in the boathouse at sundown?”

A curse fell from his lips, eyes following the sway of her hips and it turned out they couldn’t even make it till sundown anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Pls comment if the mood strikes you :)
> 
> Come join me in my trashcan on [tumblr](http://pterodactylichexameter.tumblr.com)!


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